Some Other Place
by unleashthesquirtle
Summary: When Elena leaves Christian for a fresh start with her husband, he is distraught until he meets Ana who, young, innocent, and quietly confident, is the opposite of everything Elena was. For a while, it appears Christian's life is on the right track. But when Ana leaves him, too, he adopts a lifestyle of dominance and pain. Only Ana can save him again.
1. Chapter 1

**Ana's POV**

I woke, not feeling refreshed at all from last night's sleep. It wasn't that I'd been particularly nervous about today—today was only part of a string of interviews I'd been doing at different publishing houses in the area—but SIP was different. Of course, it was.

Idly, I wondered if I would have submitted my resume to SIP at all if had known at that time that _Christian Grey_ had acquired the company. I told myself not to be stupid. The logical answer was yes, I should have done the same. I didn't have any reason not to. None of the companies I had applied at had responded to me other than to thank me for my interest in applying, and SIP, in the year that Christian had owned it, was rising fast with an increasing number of bestsellers.

But then that would make him my boss. Or, more likely, my boss's boss. Maybe even my boss's boss's boss's boss, depending on the company hierarchy.

I really was being stupid. For starters, Christian was a busy man, who employed hundreds of people. What were the odds that he'd realize _I_ had come to work for _him?_ Nil. What were the odds he'd care if he _did_ find out? Also negligibly small. I was his ex-girlfriend from college. I was insignificant, a blip in his dating history which, given his billionaire status, was probably a pretty colourful one (although society pages suggested otherwise).

So I had no reason to be nervous. No, I wasn't nervous at all.

In the twelve or so months that Christian had owned SIP, the building had been efficiently and completely renovated from a dated brick building, to a sleek hyper-modern one, making it stand out ostentatiously in its surroundings. It wasn't in a bad part of town, exactly, but now it was probably twice as expensive as some of its surrounding buildings. Or, maybe it was just tasteful.

I let myself in through the revolving doors. The interiors were equally cold and modern which, I thought, suited Christian just perfectly—not that I would be a good judge of that anymore. I hadn't seen the man in five years or so, but even back then he'd already been reserved and painfully polite to the people he didn't know very well.

The receptionist took my name and, after giving me directions, directed me to an elevator that would take me where I needed to go. Even she looked polished and shiny. I'd tried my best to look put-together, and I thought my corporate-cross-librarian get-up would make me look reasonably hireable in a publishing company, but it didn't look like employees here had ever heard of Forever 21 or wear anything but posh designer duds to work.

I was, rather unexpectedly, out of my element in a company dealing with what I knew best in the world—books!—and I was growing to regret my decision to accept this interview by and by.

The elevator doors slid shut behind me. I pressed the number to the eighth floor like I was told to, and waited.

 **Christian's POV**

I hadn't wanted to take that creative writing elective; it was a waste of time. And, back then, I'd already thought _college_ was a waste of time. There were so few professors who valued original thought, and too many who would give you a 4.0 just for thinking the way they _wanted_ you to think, Ivy League education be damned. I knew I wanted to be out in the world, trying my luck at entrepreneurship instead of sitting in a classroom.

But then I met her, and it felt like serendipity. Suddenly, I was grateful for the turn of events that had led me to that moment when I had met her. For a short time, I was whole and happy in a way I had never known all my life. And then things ended, and I felt the opposite.

People say it's better to have loved and lost, but with the direction my life had taken, sometimes I wish I had never loved at all.

She broke up with me over the phone.

 _ **Ana (hesitantly): Hello?**_

The phone had rung several times before she picked up. I had been just about to give up.

 _ **Me (frantic): Ana? Oh, thank God. Please. Forget the things I said. I didn't mean them. Please.**_

 _ **Ana (calmly): You had every right to say them, Christian.**_

 _ **Me: I was just... angry.**_

 _ **Ana (still calmly): Are you still angry now?**_

At this point, maybe I should have lied and tried to salvage what remained of our relationship. But I had never been in the habit of lying to her, never, in fact, been able to. And she'd sounded so relaxed... how could I have known that the reason she's sounded so tranquil was because she'd been planning to do this conversation all along?

 _ **Me (haltingly): Yes. Yes, I think. But we can fix that. I—**_ (Here, I made some half-laugh-sob-monstrosity of a sound) _ **—I don't think I could live without you.**_

 _ **Ana (troubled now): No, don't say that. You have to, and you**_ **will** _ **.**_

 _ **Me (confused): What are you talking about?**_

 _ **Ana: I think we should spend some time apart.**_

"Miss Steele is on her way up to see you, sir," the receptionist informed me through the intercom. _So, it begins._ I stood up, facing the window and away from door which Ana would be entering from. I wanted to be prepared when she came in, not that I hadn't run through this moment in my mind several times before already. It had been almost seven years, and I still couldn't work out what I wanted to say to her. It kept changing.

There was a time when I would have begged her on my knees to take me back. Another time when I would have lashed out at her for breaking her promise and leaving me like she said she never would have. Most of the time, when I picture this moment in my head, I tend to skip these parts and head right over to what I want to do _after_ them, but I know that could never be.

I wanted her to submit herself willingly.

I heard the door open and close and a sharp thud when I should have heard the soft patter of footsteps approaching. I turned around, bemused to find her picking herself up off the floor. _Well, she was always clumsy._

"I'm sorry, I..." she began sheepishly, then froze when she saw who she was talking to.

"Are you alright?" I asked casually as I approached. I was enjoying this moment.

"Yes, I... Do _you_ interview all your applicants?" She was still visibly shaken, like she had seen a ghost. I supposed that was appropriate.

 _Of course not, Miss Steele, I'm fairly busy._ "No, this is a special case." I smiled, though I'm not sure it looked altogether inviting. "I always look forward to the opportunity to reconnect with old friends." That was a lie, I'm sure she knew that.

Although since she was practically one of my only old friends, maybe it wasn't.

"But," she bit her lip, hesitating. It looked like she had never outgrown that habit, which was strangely comforting. "I didn't apply because I thought you'd, you know, _lend me a hand._ " At this, she reddened.

I thought this was appropriate, too. I didn't owe her any favors—at least, not yet.

"I wasn't planning to," I said rather coldly, which made her straighten up. "Shall we start?"

She stared at me agape.

"Well, Miss Steele?" This was beginning to grow amusing. It took several years of carefully concealing emotions not for me to crack a smile.

" _Miss Steele?_ I—I mean, _you're_ going to interview _me?_ "

"Why wouldn't I? I'm here, and I'm sure I'll make as good a judge as anybody in my company if you're fit for the position or not. Take a seat," I commanded. She did.

I settled myself in the desk across from her, enjoying watching her squirm. "Let's begin. How did you hear about the opening?"

Ana launched into some prattle about a newspaper ad catching her eye, a typical answer to a typical question. Instead of listening to her, I watched her speak. She was nervous, immensely so. I looked for guilt and sadness and longing, any indication that our shared past extended beyond that of mere friendship, but either these emotions were overruled by her anxiety or she didn't care at all, which was... fair.

I asked her a couple more questions, still waiting for her to exhibit signs that we had had a connection at some point in the past. Instead, she had begun to exhibit signs of anger. At the third question, she stopped me, "Why are you doing this, Christian?"

For a second, I feared she had seen through my guise. That she'd somehow caught hold of what I'd been doing in my spare time all these years, what I hoped to do with her. But that was impossible. My tracks were well-covered, and I hadn't let anything slip at all, yet.

"I'm interviewing you, Miss Steele," I replied, feigning confusion. I didn't bother to point out that we weren't on first-name basis, not anymore.

" _You're hardly listening!"_ she accused me shrilly. "If I didn't have a chance at all, you shouldn't have wasted my time. You didn't have to invite me here to this interview just so you could gloat and—"

"You think I brought you here to _gloat?_ "

"Yes!" she affirmed. At any other time, I would have wanted to rebuke her for her defiance, but here I had the strange urge to laugh again.

"Miss Steele," I said, trying to keep a straight face. "I asked you the most basic interview questions there are. If you thought I wasn't listening, it was only because I've heard everything all before."

"But I—"

"Also, if you're interested in applying for _assistant_ to the commissioning editor, you may be interested to know there isn't an opening."

Her jaw dropped a little. "What? But I—"

"Because there isn't any commissioning editor. He resigned last week."

Ana sat very still for a moment, registering this. Finally, she said "Well, there isn't any point in me being here now, is there?"

"Actually, I did have another reason for meeting you here."And there it was, my opening. I had been waiting for it to come to this. "I have a proposition for you."

End of Chapter 1.

This is a new story, and I know it's plenty obvious that I'm changing several parts from the original story such as when they met, their age, and even what got CG into all his kinky what-not. I only hope that you'll like it and continue to read it. :] Do keep an open mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Christian's POV**

Ana swept into my life with the suddenness and devastation of a hurricane. She was just _there_ , until she _wasn't_. I spent some of the happiest moments of my early life with her, learning about the books she loved and seeing them in a new light, discovering her hopes and dreams—not that she was ever very vocal about them, to me—and then waking up much too early in the morning to find her still fast asleep beside me. There were also unhappy memories: our fights, my irrational jealousy, her struggles to establish a life apart from me, and then grief for what we had been and could have been.

I suppose I'll never quite know whether she did more good or bad, but in the greater scheme of things, it hardly matters.

What _did_ matter was that I wanted her to be _mine._ Completely.

 _I was running late. Under my breath, I cursed my adviser for forcing me to take an elective that would serve no purpose whatsoever in my career, as well as one situated in a building so far away from my previous class._

" _Christian, maybe you should try something different."_

 _I had assumed 'something different' meant a class on Asian languages, or maybe nuclear physics, but I had been mistaken._

" _You need an_ outlet _," she emphasized the word. "Learn to be comfortable with words."_

" _I don't_ fear _public-speaking," I argued. "I just don't see the point of... talking for no reason."_

" _It's called conversation. It is_ expressive." _Again, she emphasized words she felt should have meant something more to me. But I knew expressive. I played the piano. I told her that._

" _Oh, Christian," she crooned. "You can't make friends with a piano."_

 _There was only one seat left when I arrived; it was next to a skinny, dark-haired freshman girl toting a huge backpack who looked awfully out-of-place among the bored upperclassmen who, I assumed, had also been forced to take the class by their own advisers._

 _She cast me a sideways glance as I sidled up beside her, but said nothing._

 _The professor arrived, a bustling, overly-energetic older woman like I guessed she had to be to teach a class as inconsequential as creative writing for non-literature majors."Pick a partner," she ordered us after a brief self-introduction (she was a retired author of little import). That was what I hated about these sort of electives, they always involved working in groups at some point or the other. I realized quickly that my usual tactic—dallying before I informed the professor that I didn't know anyone in the class until everyone had selected their own partners, so that I could work alone—would be ineffective because there was an even number of people in the room._ Damn it.

 _Meanwhile, my seatmate, the freshman, was looking around the room with a panicked expression as everyone paired up. The only person she_ had _asked, who sat directly in front of her, already had a partner._ Go on, _I thought._ Talk to someone else. It's not that hard.

 _Suddenly, my only choice became obvious."Excuse me..." I began. The freshman turned to me with wary eyes. It occurred to me that, if she had wanted to, she could have asked to partner with me_ first _given that we_ were _already sitting next to each other and, it appeared, she didn't know anyone in the room._

" _Would you... want to..." The words were suddenly heavy in my mouth as she gazed at me—her eyes were so blue!— waiting._

" _Be partners?" I was surprised by the temerity with which she finished my sentence. She'd seemed so small and so shy that I hadn't expected her to speak at all. It made me look at her, really look at her, for the first time and, although she couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen, I realized that her expression carried a maturity that was well beyond her years. At the very least, I knew she wouldn't be the sort of freshman who squeaked in response to the older people in the room and tried too hard to please._

" _Yes," I replied, like she had asked me. "I mean,_ would _you?"_

 _My seatmate appeared to consider this. "Yes," she finally assented. So that was that._

 _The professor talked at length about the sort of project we would be doing—big surprise, we were going to write a_ story _—but dismissed as early. As I got up, I decided to try and make up for earlier's poor performance by striking up a real conversation. "So, you never did tell me your name." I tried to sound friendly, but then I was kind of rusty in that department. I tried to pretend I was talking to Mia, who was about this girl's age._

 _The girl turned her full gaze to me again, which was disarming somehow. "My name is Anastasia. Steele," she added._

" _Christian Grey. You're majoring in...?"_

" _English lit."_

 _I digested this piece of information for about a second. "I thought this class was for_ non- _literary majors."_

" _Oh, it is." She blushed. We began walking out, she lugging her heavy backpack and me... well, I didn't really take notes. It felt wrong to let her carry that burden on her own, but I didn't want her to take it the wrong way by offering to carry her things. "I wasn't, um, qualified for the other writing subjects I wanted to take. This is my first year."_

 _We headed for the exit. I guessed that this was her last class for the afternoon, like it was mine._

" _Do you live in a dorm?"_

" _Yes." We discussed her living arrangements—her roommate was Kate Kavanagh from_ the _Kavanagh that owned Kavanagh Media who, in the few times I'd met her at functions, had always been too overbearing for my liking though Anastasia seemed quite fond of her, and then she wanted to know about mine._

" _I live alone," I told her. "Off campus." It was at this moment that a boy about Anastasia's age jogged up to where we were standing and engulfed her in a massive bear hug. I looked away, uncomfortable at being caught in the middle of their... hug. She pushed him off after a beat, laughing and a little embarrassed._

" _Christian, this is my friend, Jose," she explained apologetically. I guessed that was my cue to get lost._

" _Nice to meet you, Jose. Anastasia."_

 _I didn't expect to see Anastasia until our next creative writing class, which wouldn't be until Monday the next week. I'd like to say that I forgot about her for a while, and it's not like I was obsessing over her or anything, or that I purposely went out of my way to go to places I_ thought _she would be because, frankly, I didn't know where that was. But I did think about her from time to time, sometimes still trying to understand why she hadn't asked me to be her partner first—maybe I looked dumb, or lazy, or both—and I took longer runs around campus._

 _It was actually because of this that I_ did _run into her a couple of days later. It was raining. She was on her way out of the library as I was about to pass by. I stopped, for a second just watching her as she fumbled with her little umbrella as well as the three thick books she was cradling haphazardly to her chest. Before I knew it, I was walking towards her and offering to carry her books._

 _Anastasia looked at me doubtfully, I was all wet with the rain that had been pouring all afternoon, and my hoodie was thoroughly soaked, clinging to me like baggy second skin. She was probably afraid I'd get her books wet and ruin them. But then she agreed, gingerly placing a couple of books in my waiting arms. I pushed my sleeves back to expose my skin, which was still slightly drier than my hoodie._

 _I wasn't afraid of giving her the wrong idea now. She knew that I knew she had a boyfriend, so she wouldn't see this gesture as anything but platonic. Anastasia attempted to shield both of us from the rain with her umbrella, but I was several inches taller which was giving her a hard time, so I carried that, too._

" _I live nearby," she mumbled, sounding resigned as she led the way to her dormitory building. It was like she resented me for her needing my help, which I found rather puzzling and amusing._

" _Why do you borrow so many books, anyway?" I wanted to know._

" _Because I read them" came the automatic answer. And then, finally deciding to humor me in my attempt at conversation, she added in a rush "I'm having trouble sleeping in my new dorm room, and these help me."_

" _Reading helps you sleep?" As I said this, the rain began to fall harder, which made_ us _walk faster. It also made talking more difficult._

 _Finally, she was able to squeeze out a response. "Sometimes reading helps me get through the night."_

" _So, you don't sleep?" I queried, giving her a quick side-glance and noticing for the first time that there where dark shadows under her blue eyes. "That doesn't sound healthy."_

" _No, not a lot, anyway... But I've only been on campus for a few days. I'll get used to living here." On this, she sounded very determined, and I couldn't help but smile. Catching me grinning, she positively scowled. "What?"_

 _It turned out I had been right about her not being the meek, easily-subdued type. "Nothing, it's just that for a second you reminded me of my little sister, Mia."_

" _Oh." She bit her lip, not knowing what to say to that. A short while later, she stopped walking outside a building and proclaimed "We're here!" gesturing mock-grandly behind her. I stopped walking, too, and stared up at the building. It was a large dormitory. Most of the lights inside were already turned on, with the majority of campus residents knowing better than me to stay outdoors during a thunderstorm._

 _I handed Anastasia the books and then the umbrella before stepping out from under its protection and into the onslaught of rain._

" _Wait! What are you doing?" Anastasia immediately demanded when she saw what I had done, moving so that I was under the umbrella again. "You aren't going back out in this weather?" She seemed inexplicably furious with me, though I couldn't guess why._

" _Anastasia, in case you haven't noticed, I'm already drenched. I was running in the rain. Recreatively."_

 _Anastasia bit her lip again as she considered this, a nervous habit. Then, she shook her head and looked me square in the eyes. "It wouldn't feel right if I sent you out in this weather... after you did_ me _a favor. Please, stay. At least until the weather lets up a little." Suddenly, she seemed very small and shy again, and I wasn't sure, but she seemed anxious that I would turn her down, as if my refusal or acceptance of her invitation was of some special consequence to her._

 _Part of me wanted to leave. Staying in Anastasia's dormitory building would mean interacting with her roommate, possibly even her boyfriend and the other people she lived with in the building. I didn't like being around strangers much more then necessary (hence, me living alone), but I couldn't turn her down—especially not when her eyes were practically begging me not to._

 _In reply, I took back hold of the umbrella and stirred us toward the direction of shelter. I couldn't see her expression, but I sensed her triumphant mood._

" _By the way," she said as we paused before the threshold to wipe the mud off our shoes. "It's just 'Ana'."_

 **End of Chapter**

I just wanted to take this opportunity to say that I don't go to Harvard, so there may be some things (maybe a lot of things) I get wrong about about how things work there, and I'm sorry about that. Yes, in this story, they both attend Harvard—that makes it easier for some parts of the story to work.

I also apologize for using the "partners in a group project cliché". If I could rewrite this (and I can't, because I already have the next couple of chapters written!) I would change that part.

Thank you to everyone who expressed an interest in this story in the **reviews.** I really appreciate it. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Ana's POV**

Christian had me dumbfounded, something I was sure he enjoyed despite his air of cool nonchalance. _I drop offers like this all the time, nothing to be excited about,_ he seemed to convey with his posture. _Don't be foolish._ I searched his face for any sign of the old Christian, the one whose lips twitched when he bluffed, whose eyes always gave him away, but either years of business had hardened him, or I didn't know him all that well anymore because I could find none.

"Well, Miss Steele?" he pressed on.

As I considered his offer, I began to bite my lip stopping only when I realized what I was doing. Christian had been crazy about that habit of mine for some reason, and I didn't want to bring up any reminder of our shared past, especially not now.

"I'll need... some time."

From across the table, I thought I saw Christian's eyes light up in amusement. But whether it was because of my lip-biting or my obvious discomfort, I couldn't be sure.

"May I ask what for, Miss Steele?" Great. He was being purposefully daft. And I was completely in his mercy.

I fixed him with a level stare, and made an inclusive gesture with my hand " _This_." By _this_ , I had meant _everything_ , from his offer, to seeing him again, to the promise that I might be seeing him many more times in the future. Christian looked like he was about to respond to that and quickly I added "It's Ana, by the way. Just _Ana_."

 **Christian's POV**

 _As expected, Just Ana led me to her dorm room where Katherine Kavanagh was awaiting her return. Katherine—Kate—was tall and blond and confident, a combination which might have made her supremely hot to a man of less refined taste—she'd suit my brother Elliot just fine—but only commonplace to me. She extended a warm hand in greeting, her surprise at seeing me follow Ana inside their room quickly melting into recognition._

" _We've met before!" she exclaimed. I made a sound in the affirmative, while Ana looked from her to me and back to her quickly in confusion."You're Christian Grey."_

" _You know each other?" Ana asked, sounding a little disconcerted._

 _I shrugged while Kate nodded her head enthusiastically. "We met at some kind of charity dinner." It had actually been a fund-raiser for children starving in Southeast Asia, but I didn't see the need to point that out. Giving me an appraising glance, Kate added, addressing me alone "My, you've grown a lot."_

 _While it_ was _true that I'd grown a couple of inches since the last time we had met, I could easily have said the same about her. Kate_ had _grown, just not in the same area as me. She'd been flat as a board the last time I had seen her._

 _Meanwhile, Ana had turned to Kate with a look of interest. "Charity dinner?"_

" _Oh, yes! Christian's parents donate prodigious amounts of money to charity. Don't they, Christian?"_

" _Well, I—"_

" _In fact, they're hosting a charity ball in October. At their estate. Right, Christian?"_

" _Yes, but I don't—"_

" _It's massive, by the way." Kate widened her eyes at Ana. "But I've only been a few times."_

 _I sighed in frustration, wondering what the point was of addressing me directly when she wouldn't even let me finish a single sentence. Ana caught my eye and made an apologetic shrug._ That's Kate for you, _she seemed to say. They were so different that it seemed unlikely they could ever get along, and yet they seemed to quite well._

" _Well, I have to scat. I was just heading out." Now Kate sounded apologetic and Ana looked slightly panicked to see her leaving.("Not in this weather?" she squeaked.) I couldn't understand why. I, on the other hand, was relieved to watch her go. "Be good to my roommate." She winked at me. And then we were alone, just Ana and I._

 _This seemed to be the moment Ana was dreading, and she half-sat, half-collapsed onto what I assumed was her bed, looking uncomfortable. I picked up one of the books she had borrowed from the library._

"Tess of the d'Urbervilles? _"_

 _She nodded, but did not speak._

" _You like Hardy?"_

" _I like English literature in general. I mean, I should." She shrugged. "I'm majoring in it."_

" _I'm majoring in politics and economics."_

" _And do_ you _like it?"_

" _I like politics. And I like economics. A solid foundation on both is crucial if you're planning on getting into business. But do I like majoring in it?" I pondered the question before I answered. "I guess not. I 'm a firm believer that what we study_ here _," I gestured around the room with a hand, indicating the university as a whole. "Is only half of what's out_ there."

 _Ana blinked at me. "I think that's the longest thing you've ever said."_

"What?"

" _You're always speaking in one-liners." She hesitated. "Sometimes, when you talk to me it's like you're forcing yourself to fill in silences. You don't communicate."_

 _I was quiet for a heartbeat, torn between making a snide remark on how she didn't know me well enough to be forming any sort of conclusion regarding my behaviour and actually considering the accuracy of her comment. I ended up smiling wryly. "I could return the compliment, Miss Steele."_

" _Only because I don't know you well enough, Grey," she shot back good-naturedly. "Also..."_

" _Also?"_

" _Nothing."_

" _What is it?" I prompted._

 _Ana shook her head, turning her face away and picking at a loose thread on her bedspread instead of answering. She was so frustrating; sometimes it felt like I was pulling teeth with each sentence I got out of her. I was about to ask her again when she spoke. "I just find you intimidating. And I don't intimidate easily, on most occasions." She made it sound like a confession, making me smile. All the same, each word I could get out of her felt like I was getting somewhere important._

" _Intimidating how?" I pushed, wanting her to say more. "Like big and mean-looking?"_

 _She took the question much more seriously than I intended. "No... definitely not." She bit her lip, something I found extremely distracting somehow, momentarily taking away the impatience I felt at her hesitation. "Sort of the opposite, actually."_

" _The opposite?"_

" _Well, pretty people aren't usually very nice. Except Kate," she added loyally, daring me to disagree with her. "Nicely intimidating."_

" _So what's your excuse?"_

" _What do you mean?"_

" _For the one-liners? These short, clipped replies?"_

" _I have no idea what you're talking about."_

" _Christian!"_

 _I scratched my chin. It was the first time she had used my (pun intended) Christian name in talking to me, and I couldn't evade the question much longer. But then I couldn't very well tell her that I didn't speak for years as a child. That would entail... more explanations, and things I didn't want to talk about just yet. So instead I told her what my adviser has told me, only in not so many words. "I have trouble expressing myself."_

 _Ana snorted. "I find you very expressive, actually," she said, surprising me._

" _What?"_

" _It's like you have no control over your facial expressions. You're usually very... serious-looking, of course, but then like just now, when you looked so appalled, I knew you couldn't help it." She was right. "Maybe you're just not good with words—which, by the way, concerns me because you're my writing partner. But you have no trouble being expressive. Not at all."_

" _Well, thanks for telling me." I struggled to compose my face to a deadpan expression, which made her smile. "Pray tell, what other emotions have I unknowingly exposed to you?"_

" _Well," she looked thoughtful. "I realized you were being sincerely helpful, back at the library. When you offered to carry my books."_

" _Was that why you let me?"_

" _Of course. I wouldn't just let any riffraff carry_ Tess."

 **Ana's POV**

I couldn't help it. Anger, confusion, and an all-too-familiar emotion I had always felt with Christian before—exasperation-were warring inside me. "You can't just _do_ these sort of things." Christian raised an eyebrow, and I was _positive_ he was mocking me.

Because of course, _he_ believed he _could_ do such things. And maybe he was right.

"I mean, what responsible business executive plucks random people off the streets and makes them high-ranking employees?" _Or, to be painfully blunt, hire their inexperienced ex-girlfriends of questionable writing ability as commissioning editors in their fast-rising publishing companies._ I was furious now. This was sure to be some dumb practical joke he'd been planning for a while. He probably thought I was just desperate for a job (and maybe I was), knew that my writing career had never taken off if, in fact, it had ever even existed. He wanted to rub it in my face as petty revenge for—I stopped myself from finishing that thought.

After all, what words were sufficient to describe what I had done to Christian Grey? Broken up with him, broken his heart? We both knew I had done much more than that.

Christian held up a finger, silencing me. "First of all, you're not a random person. I know you've had an Ivy League education and I know how dedicated you can be... to books." He gave me a well-meaning look that was too polite to be sincere, and added "Also, _Ana_ , commissioning editor isn't really a high-ranking position. I didn't offer to make you CEO."

"It's still—It's too much!" I was beginning to realize that Christian couldn't have known about my failure as a writer, which was a relief somehow. He might have guessed from the wide gap in my resume between graduating college and the present that I wasn't spending my post-graduate years as productively as I'd hoped, but for all he knew I might have taken to backpacking around Europe after graduation. "I don't have any work experience at all. I could mess up and ruin _everything_. Then all your hard work to build this company up would have gone to waste."

"Ana, prior to this conversation I was actually quite proud of my ability to seek out talented individuals. Your lack of confidence in my talent wounds me."

I was about to counter with a snappy retort when I realized how easily we were slipping back into our former selves, arguing with each other and being difficult just because we _could_. It made me sad. I had tried, long and hard, to distance myself from Christian Grey but all he needed was a few minutes to get under my skin. I needed to leave. And quickly, before I did more damage to the situation. _Why could I never be normal around Christian Grey?_

" _Mr. Grey_ ," I forced myself to say, even though it felt so alien to address him so formally. "I do need more time to think about this."

Christian looked inclined to argue, and after all it _was_ a generous job offer. I had to be out of my mind not to take it, if only I could believe that Christian himself wasn't literally out of his mind to make me such an offer—or that he pitied me. He visibly decided against arguing. "Fine. Think it over."

And then I was free to resume my own mundane existence. One of Christian's crisp, blond minions (why were all the employees _blond?_ ) came to usher me out of the building, and wordlessly, I followed. Outside, a fine shower of rain had dosed everything under the sky with water. I saw no rainbows.

Christian had never taken kindly to rejection, and maybe that was one reason it had been so easy turn him down. Deep down, I knew I would be back.

 **End of Chapter**

I've had this chapter with me for a while, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to post it because I don't think it's very well-written. Still, I've been feeling really bad for how long it has taken me to update. I'm still enrolled in university, and the workload has been incredibly heavy this term. So, in case I've kept anyone waiting, I'm very sorry.


	4. Chapter 4

**Ana's POV**

Seei ng Christian unsettled me much more than I thought it would. I couldn't wrap my head around how much he'd changed. Of course, I had heard about his success, but it was like I had always believed that Christian Grey was an entirely different person from the one I had known. Now, the bubble had burst, and I was just as immersed in his reality as he was in mine. I had hoped, at one point, that we would never have to cross paths again, but now that it had happened, I couldn't say I felt all the worse for it. I felt well—optimistic, almost jubilant, and it scared me to admit it, but I was grateful I'd have a chance to redeem myself to him after all these years.

 **Christian's POV**

 _It was already dry outside when I let myself into my apartment, but my clothes were still a bit damp from the run and I was beginning to feel the chill. Strange that it hadn't bothered me earlier. I changed into a pair of clean pajama bottoms and was mopping off the remaining moisture on my skin with a towel when the telephone rang._

 _My mother had insisted I get a telephone aside from my mobile, as if by having more ways of contacting them I would be more inclined to do so, but only my immediate family knew the number, and only my mother ever called it. I didn't feel like talking to her and souring my good mood, but I also knew that putting off talking to her would only make her grow persistent. I picked up the receiver._

" _Hello, Christian." The voice on the other end of the line was obviously not my mother's. The fake cheer I had planned to put on for her dried up in my mouth when I realized who was calling me._

" _You shouldn't be calling me," I responded automatically, already wondering how much time we'd be able to have this conversation and berating myself for wasting time by stating the obvious. "Is it okay?"_

" _No, it's not. Definitely not. But I just... missed you."_

 _The last time we'd been together, she'd been telling me about moving away, a fresh start for her and Eric. Two weeks later, when my mother telephoned me, she had informed me that the Lincolns were gone, had relocated to their place in California. I had been hoping all the while that the move wouldn't push through, that Elena would work up the courage to tell people about us, but it did and I hadn't expected to hear from her again._

 _Mistaking my confusion for trepidation, she continued "It's okay. He's asleep... passed out drunk, actually." Her tone was bitter. I wanted so badly to make her think I didn't care, but worry overcame me like an old habit._

" _Has he hit you again?" I demanded. When Mr. Lincoln had found out that his wife had been seeing someone almost half her age, he'd lost it. He'd put her in a hospital in, what I assumed, must have been a drunken rage—he'd already been temperamental sober. I didn't find out about it until my mother had announced that she was visiting Mrs. Lincoln in the hospital—she'd fallen down the stairs, poor dear—but I had already begun to suspect otherwise._

 _In those last few months, it had been growing increasingly difficult to hide our relationship from Elena's husband. I couldn't work for them like I did in between terms while I was studying in Harvard, and she'd been making visits to certain lesser-known "friends" as an excuse to come visit me. Linc must have been growing suspicious for a while now, and when he finally confronted her, Elena had cracked. She'd said it to comfort me, that she hadn't made a conscious decision. ("What we had was beautiful, Christian, but Eric and I have shared twelve years. I can't just throw that away.")._

" _No, it's not like that!" She actually sounded defensive, which I resented. I hated that she had stuck with him, chosen him over me. That I had been nothing on but the brief interlude she needed to rekindle the sparks in her marriage. "He's just... out of it, and I wanted to hear how_ you _were doing."_

" _I'm fine," I spat. "Just peachy."_

" _Christian!" she admonished. I had never spoken to her in anything but the most reverent and affectionate of tones, so I knew she was smarting from the one I had just taken with her now._

" _Honestly, Elena, what did you expect?" I was fighting a losing battle in keeping my anger in check. "You used me."_

" _Oh, Christian. That's just not true." She sounded sad, but she didn't try to defend herself further. She couldn't because I was right._

" _I just want to forget everything that happened." I wanted to end the phone call—it would have probably been the best for both of us if I did. But I also wanted to hurt her first, as much as she'd hurt me by calling to pour salt in my wounds. It had been so much easier when I could force her out of my mind—I had made a habit out of it—but now here she was forcing her way back again._

 _And then I knew how I could hurt her._

" _It was a mistake," I said causing her to gasp. I didn't mean it, of course, but now that my anger had found an outlet I couldn't stop it from flowing. "It was... sick. I wish I could take it back."_

 _She was silent. I knew I had succeeded in causing pain, and it made me feel good and bad at the same time. Finally, she spoke, her voice thick, "I'm..._ so _sorry. I would never have wanted to—" Her sentence was interrupted by a rough sob-gasp that twisted a knife into my gut. "I'm sorry. I can't." And then her voice was gone._

 _When I was sure she had hung up, I replaced the receiver and sat down. After months of chasing away my emotions, this—the telephone call—seemed unreal. I didn't feel anything, at first. Then, the reality of what just happened settled upon my consciousness and, once again, I let the anguish consume me._

 _ **Ana's POV**_

 _I didn't see him until Monday the next week in class. We'd had a pleasant couple of hours together, and I didn't think it too much to hope that some of the warmth we'd shared during that time would cross over to the next time we saw each other, but Christian didn't even look at me when he came in, ten minutes late, and even when he sat down beside me. I was disappointed, but the feeling didn't last long. Today's lesson—symbolism—was interesting._

" _To the non-literary audience, symbolism seems unnecessary," Professor Emmett was saying. "They would want you to just come out and_ say _it. But that's no fun._

" _There is straightforward symbolism, such as when you use something like a flower to present beauty, or certain colors to represent different emotions, and then there's something like syntactic ambiguity, where a brief sentence can be interpreted in many, different ways."_

 _I snuck a glance at Christian, wondering what he thought of the lesson, but he wasn't even listening. He was toying with something small and shiny in his hand, balancing it between his index and middle fingers, but I couldn't make out what it was._

" _When you write your final project, a short story, I want you to force me to read between the lines—keep me thinking! Things are so much more appealing when they have an air of... mystery." At this point, she gave Christian a meaningful look, causing the rest of the class to follow her gaze. Christian, feeling the weight of our collective stares, sat up self-consciously. The silver thing in his hand fell on the table with a dull_ thunk _. It was a money clip._

" _Mr. Grey, would you consider yourself a mysterious individual?" Professor Emmett's look turned appraising, although I suspected that she was partly checking him out too. Yesterday night, when I'd said he was pretty (it had slipped out), Christian had hardly batted an eyelash. Given the looks of him, I couldn't blame him. He was good-looking enough not to be self-conscious about it, and had probably known it all his life. I could sense his discomfort now, however, and I realized he didn't like the attention._

" _I guess so?" Christian's eyebrows knit together, and he looked annoyed. "I don't like to talk about myself very much. Although I've been told," his eyes flickered briefly in my direction. "That I'm pretty transparent when it comes to what I'm feeling in the moment."_

 _My pulse quickened when I realized he was talking about what I'd told him last night. I also suspected that I was blushing, mostly because I felt stupid for being so pleased that I'd made that much of an impact on him. And it hadn't even been much of an impact, really._

 _Professor Emmett chuckled. "Well, I do hope you'll be able to express yourself just as well on paper."_

Christian e-mailed me the day after my interview.

 **From:** Christian Grey

 **Subject:** Keeping in touch

 **To:** Anastasia Steele

Dear Anastasia

I realized you would not have any means of reaching me, regarding your decision.

Use this to let me know.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

By then, I had already made up my mind.

 **From:** Anastasia Steele

 **Subject:** Decision

 **To:** Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey,

I have made up my mind, and I would be pleased to accept your offer.

Thank you for considering me.

Regards,

Anastasia Steele


	5. Chapter 5

**Ana's POV**

Inexplicably, my first impulse as soon as I had sent the message was to call Kate and tell her what happened. It would be strange if I did that because Kate and I hadn't spoken, really spoken, in years—for almost as long as Christian and I hadn't spoken. Perhaps, having reconnected with _one_ person from college I'd lost touch with, my subconscious was already working its way to the next person.

Kate now worked for her father under Kavanagh Media. She was engaged to Christian's brother, Elliot, which was partly the reason we didn't see each other as much. It was just too uncomfortable when I knew quite well what Elliot must think of me. We had tried to up a regular correspondence for a while after graduation, but things had gotten strained, especially when she had moved in with Elliot. It had just become easier not to see each other.

I pictured her now, in my head. Tall, blond and perfect, but she could also be surprisingly warm and funny. I had always secretly wanted to be a little more like her, and had feared, when I was dating Christian, that he'd realize how much more similar they were and run off with her. Those fears had been dispelled when she had started seeing Elliot. But I still thought, even now, that if I could have been as strong and as sure of myself as her, things might not have ended the way they did.

" _So, how did it go?" Kate had inquired upon waking up, the day after Christian Grey had walked me home and we'd talked for a couple of hours._

" _How did what go?" I asked innocently, although I already suspected what she was on about. Kate had stayed out extra late that night, stumbling in at past four reeking of smoke and other things. I didn't know if she thought she was doing that for my benefit. I also didn't know what Kate_ had _expected us to do, in her absence._

 _Having just woken up from her short slumber, Kate looked awfully put together for someone with tired eyes and rumpled hair. Certainly more put together than me in all my freshly-showered plainness._

" _You know. Christian Grey. He was here last night."_

" _And we talked. Then he went home."_

 _Kate looked disappointed, and I knew she was hoping I'd give something away—a blush, maybe, like I'd done when she had asked if I was dating Jose. (The answer was_ no. _Jose was an old friend from high school, and we'd always been close. We were used to people mistaking our relationship for anything more than platonic, and rather than getting used to it I had acquired the bad habit of becoming flustered whenever people asked that question. It was just too weird.)_

" _Sure was nice of him to walk you home," she commented, spooning sugar into the coffee she was making. "He's been known to be a little standoffish."_

" _It wasn't_ like _that," I countered. And then, I remembered that she and Christian knew each other from way back. Kate's family was well-connected to say the least, and I wondered what else she knew about him. I asked that now. "How well do you know him?"_

 _Kate raised her eyebrows a little scornfully. "Not well. I always thought he was a little stuck-up, but then I realized he just kept to himself. It's too bad really, with him looking like_ that." _Kate's smile became rather predatory. "But maybe that's changed now."_

 _I didn't know how to respond to that and I rolled my eyes to mask the real discomfort which I felt. The truth was, Kate had a tendency to be a bit of a maneater. I sensed it in the coquettish way she always responded to Jose, her subtle preening which always drew the attention of every male body in the room, and now in the way she spoke about Christian, like he was something to prey on. Even though I didn't know Christian very well, nor how much he'd like or dislike Kate's advances, I didn't want to see him get hurt._

 **Christian's POV**

 _The morning after Elena's last phone call I lay in a state between sleep and wakefulness, as I had possibly been doing for the past few hours. I hadn't moved from the couch since I'd crashed down on it after she'd hung up. It didn't feel like I'd had a lot of sleep, but I couldn't tell. I didn't exactly want to know how much of last night I'd spent sleeping and awake. It was nice to be able to blend unconsciousness and reality. It made me feel like everything—my ruining what chances I had left with Elena—had been a god-awful dream, and I could still make it better._

 _Everything had gone downhill after that phone call. I still remembered being in good spirits before, I couldn't think of why I'd been so happy before. Nothing that had happened with Ana had been out of the ordinary._

 _My ears were ringing, and I closed my eyes, trying to drown the sensation out, but the ringing continued. I was so out of it that it took me a few more seconds to realize that the phone—the same one Elena had spoken to me through yesterday—actually was ringing, and when the realization hit, I became fully and painfully awake._

 _It was Elena. It had to be. She was calling me back for... what? An apology?_

 _For a few fleeting moments, I allowed myself to hope that she was calling to take me back. I managed to crush it before it got too out of hand. In a few short strides, I was standing by the telephone again and picking it up before I could give myself any other expectations._

" _Took you long enough."_

 _It was a both a relief and a disappointment when I heard my brother Elliot's gruff voice at the other end of the line. I was also a bit bemused that he was calling. Elliot and I had never had a lot to say to each other. Absence, from the long periods of time we'd spend away from each other at our respective universities, had not exactly made the heart grow fond, in our case. If anything, it had aggravated our alienation from each other._

" _Yeah. Yeah, I was sleeping." I didn't bother making up a better excuse. For one, the effort would be lost on Elliot, and my head just wasn't up to it._

" _Yeah, well, mom's been on my back trying to get me to check up on you."_

"You?" _I couldn't hide my incredulity. I avoided talking to my parents-whom I could stand in small doses when they weren't actively trying to get me to visit home more often, or attend their stupid functions—whenever I could. I couldn't think of any reason why they would think sending the member of the family I liked least was the best way of reaching out to me._

" _She thinks we don't spend enough time together. We, meaning you, me and Mia," he added, because it was plain that the two of us barely spoke._

" _I can't come home this weekend. Lots of work." I tried to make my voice sound sorry. Maybe I sort of was. Mia, my little sister, I_ did _miss._

" _That's alright," Elliot said immediately, with a lightness that had to be false. It always became crysral clear to me, in moments like this, just what Elliot thought of me: that I was a useless, future-less ingrate who was frittering away_ his _parent's money and attention. That I didn't deserve to be part of his perfect family and their perfect life. None of these were things that I didn't already know._

 _In our own way, Elliot and I were closer than my parents and I ever would be. There had never been any sugar-coating with him; he could show open disdain for how I behaved, and it was okay. Also, having been a teenage boy himself at the same time, I had a feeling he was more aware than he let on of the various scrapes I'd get myself into, and he'd never ratted me out. He never expected anything better from me and I thought I could say the same for him, although his next line caught me off guard completely._

" _By the way, I thought you'd be interested. The Lincolns sold their house."_

 _If I had successfully convinced myself, even a little, that last night had been a dream, or if Elliot had managed to sidetrack me by the unwelcomeness of his call, this broke the spell. Reality returned in waves, and I thought I could hear an all-new ringing in my ears again. The painful kind that made me wish I could get my brains bashed in somehow just to make it stop._

 _Throughout this inner turmoil, I was silent, the only outward representation of my struggle being a sharp intake of breath._

" _Why?" I finally said. I realized I had never dared to wonder, all this time, how much Elliot knew of me and Mrs. Lincoln. He had known of other things I'd tried and done—underage drinking, weed, the fights, so why not this? Had he specifically chosen to mention the Lincolns now to hurt me? "Why did you think that would interest me?" I asked again, voice tight, words dripping with venom._

" _I just remembered that you always worked there during breaks. Though you should know that you're jobless now._

" _You sound weird," Elliot commented. I remembered that, before, whenever things got too heated between us—when we were on the verge of hitting each other—he'd always try to throw me off with a joke. "Are you... feeling okay?" Elliot sounded awkward himself. Like he was trying, and failing, not to sound like he felt... something._

Like he felt concerned. _The notion almost made me laugh. Elliot had never given a fuck about me before, and he wouldn't start now. I realized, too late, that I really was laughing—a little manically._

" _I'm fine," I said as soon as the laughter subsided. "Peachy." This seemed to be turning into my favorite word for the frequency that it appeared on my vocabulary._

 _Elliot was silent for some time. I pictured him scratching his head, unsure what to make of me. "You're high," he finally decided. For some reason this time, he didn't sound happy about it._

" _I'm not," I told him honestly, but he didn't believe me._

" _I don't know why I even bothered. I thought you'd finally gotten your shit together, but you're a lost cause, Christian." Something in Elliot's tone chastened me. I realized I had spent a whole lot of time seeing him annoyed with me and being equally annoyed with him, but had never or rarely seen him truly angry about anything. He was the easygoing one. "And it makes me sick how much time mom and dad spend worrying about you when it's obvious that you couldn't care less about them."_

 _And then he hung up. People were always hanging up with me, it seemed. I put the phone back on the receiver and tried not to feel anything about this._ Please, I can't take anymore right now. _The ringing in my ears intensified._

 _I thought you'd finally gotten your shit together._ Well, maybe I had, for a while, but then she left.

My cellphone rang at some point during the afternoon, and I was surprised to see it was my brother Elliot. Unlike the other members of my family, my mother especially, Elliot actually respected working hours _._ This made his calls a pleasant rather than harrowing experience. "Hi, Elliot, how are you?"

"Good, thanks. Mom's been bugging me to check up on you." For several years now, Elliot had been starting our phone calls with 'mom asked me to check up on you'. That had made it easier when we were younger and couldn't speak to each other without the conversation turning into an argument. It had long since stopped being true—or at least I guessed it had.

"It's okay. I'm visiting this weekend." Something tugged at the edges of my memory—a different phone call we'd had?—but I shook it off.

"Oh, right. You're going with them to the photo exhibit? Should be interesting," he said. But no, it really wouldn't be. Which was why Elliot wasn't going. It was a show featuring amateur photographers, which almost promised that their work would be tolerable at best—unique, probably, in their subjects, but barely tolerable in their quality and value. "Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something important."

I made an attentive sound into the phone scrolling, in the mean time, through a spreadsheet on my laptop.

"I was thinking of proposing to Kate this weekend."

"That's great!" I said. I was being polite, of course, since I had never been a fan of Elliot's frigid, alpha-female girlfriend, and Elliot knew that.

"I always thought you'd have a stronger reaction against her joining your family. What a relief," said Elliot dryly.

 _Well, she'd always seemed dead-set on joining it, one way or another._ "I always knew it would happen," I said instead, managing to sound polite again. "And I'm not the one marrying her."

"You did? Because," Elliot laughed, sounding genuinely happy, and I felt a little guilty that I couldn't sound a little happier for him. Or like Kate a bit more. "Who would've thought I'd be the one to settle down first, after all those break-ups and—"

"Mia's too young, and I'm not seeing anyone, so of course you would," I cut him off.

"Come on," Elliot snorted. "You haven't spent all this time moping around after—"

"I have." No, that wasn't exactly true. "Goodbye, Elliot!"

"I'm serious! It's weird and unhealthy, and—"

"Goodbye, Elliot!" This time I hung up. I mulled over the last bits of our conversation for a bit afterward, staring blindly at the laptop screen in front of me. Elliot had always had the uncanny ability to see through me, and he'd gotten something right about me again without knowing it. My situation _was_ weird and unhealthy, but I knew just how I was going to fix it.

 **End of Chapter**

Hooray! Part 5 is finally out. This chapter's just here to build up to something so I hope you don't mind that it's kind of uneventful.


	6. Chapter 6

**Ana's POV**

Jose had a show, apparently. But it had somehow slipped my mind until Jose himself showed up at the door, ready to bring me with him as his date. And even then, I wasn't sure _what_ he was doing at my doorstep, dressed to the nines to boot. I just knew that something important was happening tonight, and that I had completely forgotten about it.

"Hello," said Jose cheerfully while I contemplated closing the door in his face and leaving him there while I scrambled to get ready. I was sorely tempted to tell him that I was in the process of getting ready, but that might just make him more upset when he realized what I was up to. Also, I was in my pajamas. The lie would be too obvious, and I felt guilty enough.

"Oh God, I completely forgot it was today," I admitted, even though I still had no idea what happening today. I wanted to at least be the one to admit that I had forgotten. It was evident from how his face fell that I had at least managed to say that before him could put two and two together, and actually realize that I was much too underdressed for whatever he had had in mind tonight.

"I'm so sorry. It's been a busy week. I was going to job interviews…" I searched his face for any hint resentment. This wouldn't be the first time I had forgotten something major (like our _anniversary_ , although I was pretty sure that wasn't today), Jose wasn't looking at me, he was hanging up his coat on my coat rack, but he looked up when he was done and smiled. I tried not to sigh in relief visibly. Good, he wasn't angry. Whatever was on today must be pretty good for him to get over my mistake so quickly.

"It's fine… You did mention the interviews. I should've reminded you." I must have continued to look guilty because Jose laughed. "It's okay—honestly! The doors don't formally open until 6."

That was when things finally clicked together, in my head. The last time Jose had called, which was about a week ago, he had mentioned that he'd been contacted to exhibit his photographs along with other new artists in Seattle. He'd been really excited about it, and I had been really excited for him, too… at that time. But other things had cropped up, and now here I was again, disappointing him.

"Thanks… for understanding. I'm going to get into my dress." I gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

The next problem was finding a dress in my closet. I made sure that Jose was comfortably settled on the couch before I left to go hunt one down in my room. Hopefully, that would discourage him from following; I didn't want him to watch while I ransacked my room for decent clothing (working in a coffee shop didn't really give me much reason to keep such around). _Let's pretend I already had a dress picked out for your event. Let's pretend that I'm as excited about this as you. Let's_ pretend.

Fact of the matter was, Jose was better than I deserved. A lot of our relationship was pretend. Pretend that it wasn't a relief he worked, and thus lived, so far away that we could only see each other every other week or so. Pretend that we cared what the other people did during that time apart because we just weren't the _friends_ we were, back when we were in high school. Pretend that I had already given the best parts of me to another person, several years back.

Upon examination of the contents of my closet, I realized that I did have a decent dress in reserve. It was a black minimalist(read: plain)-looking one I had purchased for Stephen's funeral, although in the end I had decided not to go. This had given my mother much grief; she had never understood (nor even tried to) my aversion towards Stephen, and perhaps that was for the best.

Dispelling those thoughts from my head, I pulled the dress on, turning to admire myself in the mirror. It would do. I then checked my drawers to see what I could do with the make-up on hand. I walked out of my bedroom minutes later, feeling somewhat presentable, and Jose indulged me with a long, admiring stare.

"That's a nice dress. You should wear dresses more often."

"Not that you would be around to see," I replied, trying to look petulant.

"Hey, I could quit my job tomorrow, crash at your place permanently…"

I forced a laugh in response although, in reality, it always made me a teeny bit uncomfortable whenever Jose mentioned things like that. Primarily because he never looked like he was joking.

" _Ana!"_

 _I found Jose rushing towards me as I exited the building of my last class. He must have been waiting for it to end, which would have been a strange thing for any other friend to do, but I had known Jose long enough to get used to his being overly-affectionate._

" _Jose!" I called out in acknowledgement, moving forward to meet him halfway. "What brings you here?" I asked as he drew nearer. Jose was majoring in engineering and we never had any classes together so seeing each other in campus was almost always never accidental._

" _I have the night off," he said by way of an answer. Jose worked at a Starbucks nearby to help pay for his student loans, which was another reason it was unusual for me to see him bumming around at this hour._

" _And you thought you'd spend it with me? Aww."_

" _Yeah, actually." Jose's step slowed only slightly. When he spoke again, I could tell he was making an effort to keep his voice casual. Only someone who knew him as well as I did, for as long as I did, could sense how tense he was underneath. "I was hoping we could have dinner together."_

" _Oh?"_

" _Like on a date."_

" _Oh."_

 _This was obviously not the reaction Jose was hoping for, and he slowed to a complete stop to face me._

" _So, what do you think?" he asked. But I didn't know what to think._

 _It wasn't that it was the first time I'd had to consider what it would be like to date Jose—what, with Kate's teasing, and the fact that we spent so much time together already. Yet, all the same, I wasn't ready to make that decision now, which was probably why I said "Why not?" at a time when I really should have said no._

Despite my unpreparedness, or perhaps because of it, we made it to the gallery in record time. "Step on it," Jose had ordered the cab driver, and step on it he did. As a result, I was feeling slightly nauseous by the time we arrived. The gallery was modern and cold. It slightly reminded me of the SIP building. It was abundantly spacious on the inside, a fact that quickly became obvious to me because the lobby was almost as large as my whole apartment. I could hear whiffs of piano music permeating from somewhere deeper inside, but whether live or recorded, I wasn't sure.

A woman greeted Jose by name as he entered. "This must be Ana," she said, turning her warm gaze to me. The attention confused me at first-we were usually treated the same as any other guest in group shows—but then I remembered how excited Jose had been for this particular show and felt something like genuine pride for the first time.

"Wow, Jose. You're moving up in the world." I squeezed his arm. Jose looked at me and grinned, but his eyes looked slightly wounded letting me know my comment had been taken the wrong way.

"Let's look at some of the other photographers' work," said Jose, before I could apologize or say anything else.

We walked through a series of landscapes which were nearest to the entrance. They were all blown up extremely huge, making the viewer feel like he was looking out a very clear window instead of at a photograph. I realized that I didn't even know which of Jose's work he had submitted to the show and sought to remedy that as soon as possible.

"Did you also send landscapes?" I asked him.

"Hm?"

"For this show?"

Jose stared back at me with an unreadable expression. "No, portraits."

I began to fret that that was something he had already told me, that I had (surprise, surprise) also forgotten. "What kind of portraits?"

"Oh, they're… just portraits." He sucked in a breath. "The truth is, I'm scared you won't like them."

"Why not?"

"Well, let's wait until you see them." We continued to pick our way across the landscapes, Jose pointing out those he found interesting, me pointing out those I found pretty, until a tall, elegant-looking woman stepped into my line of sight making me forget the photographs altogether.

I froze, seriously considering making a beeline for the exit. Jose tugged at my arm, reminding me that he was still there.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned.

"That's Dr. Trevelyan-Grey," I answered and Jose understood immediately. To be perfectly honest, I wasn't sure how Christian's mother would respond to me, or if she would even recognize me after all these years. But I could just _imagine_ her being there to pick up the pieces after I left, and that was enough to make me want to stay away.

"I'm sorry, I mean, I knew the kind of people who were going, but I didn't know that she—that _they_ —would be here," Jose was saying. Christian's mother appeared to see someone she knew, and she hurried off. I felt my panic start to abate as the distance between as increased, but just then, a thought struck me.

"Is he… Does that mean _he's_ here, too?"

Jose didn't need to ask who I was referring to. "I honestly don't know." He ran a hand through his hair sheepishly. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I wish…"

But I never got to hear what it was Jose wished, because someone had called my name. "Ana!" I turned in the direction of the call, already having a vague notion of who that would be.

"Mr. Grey!" I called in response, finally spotting him. Carrick was striding towards us, looking genuinely happy to see me, and I suddenly felt stupid for thinking they'd be rude or cold to me. Why would they? I was their son's girlfriend from college, ancient history. Christian had moved on to bigger and better things, and there was no harm done… or at the very least, not enough to leave significant traces of it at the present. The piano music shifted to a lighter, more upbeat melody as if to affirm the fact that I had nothing to worry about.

"Just Carrick to you. " Carrick was attracting attention from other guests-probably recognizing him from society pages-but he appeared to be alone for which I was exceedingly grateful. _I guess he isn't here, then._

Carrick made the usual polite inquiries on my life, and I responded in turn. I couldn't tell if he knew that I had seen Christian recently, so I said nothing about my new job, telling him instead of the café I had been working at up until that point, and of my attempts to write. Finally, he asked "And who would this be?" as he turned his attention to Jose.

For some reason, I felt a little uneasy answering him. "This is Jose, my boyfriend," I replied with unintentional briskness.

Jose smiled awkwardly and remarked on what a pleasure it was to meet Carrick, who responded in kind.

"Well, Grace is making her rounds. But I've never been really interested in these shows. My son and I are both more into paintings." I had a feeling I knew which son he was talking about. It was silly the kind of things you remembered about people long after you had stopped speaking to them. I couldn't even remember Christian's birthday, anymore.

"Jose's work is exhibited in this show, actually," I informed Carrick. "Portraits."

"Then I'll make sure to give those a look." Carrick gestured his intention to leave us, then, and I was left with Jose, who was looking at me with a bemused expression. "Well, you sure made an impression on _him_." He meant that Carrick appeared fond of me. I studied Jose, trying to gauge how this made him feel, but he didn't appear upset-just deep in thought.

"It was only small talk. Maybe he was just being civil," I suggested and, truth be told, I really did have no idea of where I stood with Christian's parents. I had only met them a couple of times before, and neither of those were what you would consider warm and happy occasions. Of one thing I was sure, though. Carrick couldn't have seen his son's grief—how hideously things had all ended—and spoken to me with so little reserve. I shouldn't have been so worried.

It was more like Christian to suffer alone.


End file.
